The battlefield was silent.
Mountains had been sundered. Skies carved open. Craters stretched for miles like the footprints of gods. And in the center of it all stood Kael Fael — motionless, cloaked in the fading radiance of Origin Essence. His armor cracked, body trembling, but his eyes never looked stronger.
The Origin Varnok's body had long disintegrated, its essence scattered and devoured by the very forces it sought to conquer. Kael hadn't just won.
He had annihilated it.
Around the continent, Essence Capturers blinked in disbelief. Soldiers stopped mid-charge. Healers forgot their work. Guildmasters dropped to their knees. The world had just seen an Origin-ranked warrior rise… and win.
And it wasn't one of the ancient ones.
It wasn't a relic of a golden age.
It was Kael — once a mere Blaze-ranked adventurer. Now, a being that dwarfed the stars.
In the days that followed, Kael turned down every feast, every parade, every title.
He returned to Elandor quietly.
He sat beside Leiya under the silver-leaf tree outside the infirmary, the same spot they once rested before the storm began. They spoke softly. Of Riven. Of the lives lost. Of how far they had come.
Of how much further they would still need to go.
Kael looked to the sky. Somewhere beyond the horizon, he felt a pull — not of destiny, but of inevitability.
Origin was not the peak.
It was the beginning.